


Huh, Feels Like a Napkin

by 94BottlesOfSnapple



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Foggy Nelson, Bisexual Matt Murdock, Eavesdropping, First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Matt Murdock, Post-Season/Series 01, Present Tense, The Nelson and Murdock Sign, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, no plot only fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 17:02:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14573514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/94BottlesOfSnapple/pseuds/94BottlesOfSnapple
Summary: Six weeks after Fisk's arrest, there's something Foggy isn't saying, and it's making Matt anxious.Then one night he overhears something that turns his whole world on its head in the best way possible.





	Huh, Feels Like a Napkin

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Matt's line in "Nelson v. Murdock" -- since their sign is such an important part of this fic, it felt fitting.
> 
> I have so many WIPs for these two right now, but this is the first one I've been able to finish! Whew! A lot of the others have more plot and way more angst, but I really just wanted something happy and cute right now. These two Disaster Bisexuals still have some stuff to work through, obviously, but it'll all work out for them and that's what's important!

It’s six weeks after Fisk’s arrest, and things are… They’re good, is the thing. Really good. Business is picking up for Nelson and Murdock in the wake of their part in taking down Fisk, the streets are mostly quiet at night, and Foggy—

Well. Actually, that’s the part that has Matt unnerved.

Because to all outward appearances, Foggy is fine. He laughs, he jokes, he’s a force to reckon with in the courtroom. And now that Foggy knows about Daredevil, the two of them hang out again more regularly – there’s no need to come up with lame excuses for the bruises and cuts anymore, for suddenly needing to leave, and while Foggy makes no secret of his worry or his exasperation he doesn’t ask Matt to stop.

So really, everything should be fine, it’s just. Foggy’s heart keeps doing this fluttery thing in his chest, and he keeps breathing in the way Matt knows means he wants to say something. But he never does. And Matt kind of tries to approach the topic obliquely, without… Without directly referencing his ‘creepy polygraph powers’. Because while Foggy’s adjusting to the revelation of Matt’s senses shockingly well, he still doesn’t like knowing how they’re used against him personally.

Matt had originally thought maybe it was fear, disgust, but three days after Fisk the two of them had gotten royally drunk and Foggy had admitted that, more than anything, he felt humiliated. Humiliated at being known so thoroughly without his knowledge, at never being aware how little privacy he truly had from Matt.

It’s understandable. And drawing Foggy back into that feeling of humiliation is the last thing Matt wants. So he tries for, you know, some subtlety. And Foggy brushes him off. He doesn’t outright lie, but he neatly sidesteps every time Matt nudges them in the direction of what Foggy might have on his mind that he hasn’t been saying. Pirouettes, even, the shift is so graceful. If speaking, debating, was a dance, Foggy Nelson would be a world-class prima ballerina. It’s what makes him such a brilliant lawyer.

But the care with which Foggy skirts around whatever he won’t say makes Matt’s gut churn with nerves. As always, there’s a part of him – eleven years old and alone and in pain – gearing up to be abandoned. It’s what makes him too afraid to address the matter directly. Every day he doesn’t is another day Foggy stays, even if the circumstances are less than ideal and Matt is probably going to develop an ulcer or two from the stress.

* * *

On the first night of the seventh week, Matt jerks to a stop on the roof of Foggy’s building, strains his senses, because Foggy’s heart is pounding at a panicked pace and what if something’s _wrong_ , what if someone’s broken in to his apartment—

But it’s only Foggy, alone.

“Shit,” he’s muttering to himself. “Ok. Ok, come on, you can do this. Whew. Ok. … Matt.”

And Foggy’s pretty clearly fine, if a bit nervous. He’s got a right to what little privacy Matt can give him. Matt’s on patrol and Hell’s Kitchen needs him. These are all good reasons to keep moving, but somehow after hearing his name Matt can’t seem to tear himself away.

“Yeah, Fog?” he murmurs under his breath, as though they’re really having a conversation.

There’s a quiet rustle of sheets that tells Matt that Foggy is lying in bed, on his back. The scent of him, freshly showered and warm, is so easy to pick out that it’s almost like the rest of the smells in the city – car exhaust, garbage, metal and brick, greasy takeout – don’t even exist.

“You probably noticed with your bat-senses and were just too freaking polite to bring it up,” Foggy begins with a sigh. “That I’ve been… There’s something I wanted to talk about. I know things have been kind of… Ok, _really_ rocky between us. With your whole…” There’s a familiar swish of air that means Foggy is gesturing vaguely with his hand. “You know. Late-night… Thing, you have going on. And I’m working on dealing with that. I’m getting there. But it’s, there’s… There’s something else.”

Matt’s heart plummets. Something else. Something more than, _hey I’ve been lying to you about a core part of me for a decade_ , or, _so actually I’m kind of a vigilante_? What more is there? What else has Matt done to completely fuck up the only long-running close relationship he has with another human being?

Foggy takes a deep breath.

“It’s…” he sighs, runs a hand through his hair with a soft swish that Matt’s heard a million times since college. “Ok. Just. You can be such an asshole sometimes, Matt, but you’re really, really brave. Probably the bravest guy I know. And I… I want to be brave too. So. Here goes. Cards on the table, buddy.”

Matt holds his breath. Whatever comes next, Foggy sounds serious. But then Foggy’s next inhale stutters, and he seems to fumble, to backtrack and explain himself.

“Whatever happens, I still. I hope we can still be a team, can still be Nelson and Murdock. That was always the most important thing to me. And now it’s real. Now we have an actual sign, a nice one, and you can feel it, right there: your name next to mine.” Foggy laughs softly, and the sound is achingly warm. “Because if… What I’m trying to say is, if we have, like, a place in the universe, a spot we’re meant to be, mine is with you, buddy. It’s always been with you.”

“Foggy…” Matt murmurs.

The words are… Too much. Matt can feel the burn of tears behind his eyes. And then there’s a groan of frustration, the soft shhh of fabric as Foggy buries his face in his pillow.

“Stupid. Stupid. God that’s awful, what am I, some sort of YA novel love interest? I can’t say that to Matt! Ughhh…” Foggy’s heart beats unevenly, defeated and unhappy. “Who am I kidding, I can’t say any of this. It’s way too Brokeback Mountain to take back if he…”

Foggy leaves the thought unspoken, but Matt can figure out its conclusion anyway from context.

This is a love confession.

One so earnest and heartfelt and beautiful that if Matt rejects it there’s no way Foggy can ever backpedal enough to make it seem platonic. Matt stands from the crouch he’s been in for the past several minutes and is immediately hit by a sense of vertigo – whether it’s from standing too quickly or from the way Foggy’s half-formed confession is making Matt’s heart vibrate in his chest even he doesn’t know.

Foggy isn’t leaving. He doesn’t want to leave – in fact, he _never_ wants to leave. He thinks that his place in the universe, the spot he’s meant to be, is _with Matt_.

Foggy’s in love with him.

There are a million champagne bubbles fizzing in Matt’s chest and all his nerves are sparking.

He stops two muggings and a B&E on his way home, light as air, and when he falls into bed he sleeps better than he has since the first night he went out in the mask.

* * *

Foggy doesn’t say anything at work the next day, or the next, or even the next three after that. But Matt’s anxiety over the silences, over things unsaid, has dissipated completely. It makes him more patient than he would otherwise have been, or maybe a different kind of impatient – the impatience he remembers from Christmas Eve, those years before his dad was killed, instead of the contradictory impatience of a man waiting for the gallows.

He enters work happy and leaves it happy, and he keeps Foggy’s words in mind every night he goes out. They keep him warm, safe, another layer of armor against the city’s hurt. In the end, this improved mood seems to be what spurs Foggy to speak.

They send Karen off with a smile at the end of the day, and instead of leaving immediately, Foggy makes his way into Matt’s office. He smells slightly of nervous sweat, but underneath it is coffee, cheap ‘scentless’ shampoo, and the sub sandwich Foggy had for lunch.

“Something you needed?” Matt asks him.

“Well. Y’see, Matt, there’s, uh, there’s something I’ve been meaning to… To talk to you about. I…”

But Foggy can’t seem to force anything out. His breathing stutters with frustration, fear, and his heart is going double-time in his chest.

“Foggy,” Matt says with a smile. “It’s alright. I know.”

“… What?”

Matt takes Foggy’s hand in his, fumbling a little, can feel anxious laughter building in his chest.

“If, if, uh… If we have a place in the universe, a spot we’re meant to be, mine is with you,” Matt recites, and offers a sheepish smile. “Does that… Does that answer your question?”

Foggy goes rigid.

“You—you _heard_ that?!” he splutters, and Matt can feel the heat of Foggy’s embarrassment like licks of fire against his fingertips. “You and your freaking bat ears, Murdock, I swear to god, can’t a man soliloquy in peace anymore?!”

His rant continues, punctuated with pacing – “-because you _can_ do something doesn’t mean you _should_ , Matt, and anyway don’t you have better things to do in your kinky leather bondage suit than listen in on-” – and Matt reels Foggy back in by their connected hands, huffing out a laugh.

“Fog. Foggy. C’mon, Foggy,” he murmurs with unbridled fondness. “Is this, is this really what you’re taking from that?”

“Eavesdropping is rude, Matt!”

“It was supposed to be sweet,” insists Matt, rubbing his thumb over the back of Foggy’s hand. “Are you really going to start an argument about the semantics of _how_ I tell you I’m in love with you?”

That, finally, seems to draw Foggy to a stop. In fact, he doesn’t even breathe for a few seconds too long, and Matt becomes concerned. He opens his mouth to speak – _breathe, Foggy, just breathe_ – but Foggy beats him to it.

“You’re _in love with me_?”

Matt shrugs, suddenly self-conscious.

“Basically,” he concedes.

“Oh my god.” Another pause. “Wait, like, in-love in-love? With kissing? Or best friend in-love? Because I don’t want to be picking up the wrong signals here, buddy, and you know me, I need you to be real clear about—”

Though it does nothing to his perception of the world, Matt closes his eyes and lets out a loud, exasperated sigh.

“Foggy. For Pete’s sake. Of course I want to kiss you. You… You’re it, for me. No one else could possibly compare.”

There’s a soft, wet noise as Foggy swallows sharply. Matt squeezes his hand, and Foggy squeezes back immediately. Instinct. Both their palms are a little sweaty.

“Really…? Y-you mean it…?”

“Yeah, Fog. I… I really, really do.”

“Cool,” Foggy squeaks out, and then groans as though that’s not what he wanted to say. “I mean I. Ugh. _Matt_.”

His name is said like a familiar plea; _save me from my fumbling, dude, please_ —

Matt probably couldn’t stop himself from grinning if he tried.

“Yeah?”

“Can I just—Can I kiss you now?” Foggy asks weakly. “Before I put my foot in my mouth any more than I already have?”

Matt can’t help the laugh that springs to his lips any more than he could the smile. His whole chest is warm like he’s been filled with sunshine.

“I’d like that,” he says.

Foggy’s free hand drifts to the side of Matt’s face, cupping it as though Matt is something precious. Matt has half a second to appreciate the feeling of Foggy’s breath on his lips, and then they’re kissing, soft and slow and sweet. As much as he enjoys it, the tenderness, Matt can’t quite keep from pressing forward and tugging Foggy closer by his lapels. Well. Sue him. He’s been waiting five days. And six weeks before that. And ten years before that. So. Matt feels like a little bit of impatience is forgivable, especially in light of the noise that Foggy makes when Matt presses him up against the desk.

When they finally part to breathe, Matt can’t quite give up the closeness. He leans back in to press their foreheads together.

“That was, like, way better than I imagined it,” Foggy admits with a laugh.

“Low expectations?” teases Matt, lacing the fingers of their interlocked hands together.

Another laugh, breathless and giddy – Matt’s lips tingle at the feel of the exhalation. They’re breathing the same air and it’s _perfect_.

“Never.”

Before he even really makes the decision to do it, Matt presses his mouth to Foggy’s again. Brief, close-lipped, just a quick, euphoric peck. Their hearts skip the same beat.

“Not to be pushy,” Matt murmurs. “But, you know, you never said you reciprocated my feelings.”

“Jesus Christ, Murdock.”

Foggy drops his head to Matt’s shoulder, presses a smile into his throat.

“Well you didn’t!”

“Asshole,” Foggy croons, like it’s an endearment. “You already knew.”

“Tell me anyway,” Matt insists. “I like listening to you.”

And then Foggy slips his hand away from Matt’s, leans back a little and frames Matt’s face with both of his palms.

“Matthew Murdock, you ridiculous, handsome duck man, I‘ve been in love with you for ten years and you damn well know it. I’ve probably been in love with you since you stepped into that dorm room. And I’ll tell you every single day if you want me to, but for the moment I’m just gonna kiss you again.”

Matt can’t get out more than an eager noise of agreement before Foggy makes good on his promise.

_I love you_ , says every breath that passes between them, every heartbeat, every smile. Ten years’ worth of unspoken sentiment, uncorked like a bottle of wine and intoxicating them both; _I love you, I love you, I love you._

When they finally stumble out the door of the building, drunk on each other, Matt pauses to trace a hand over their sign. _Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law_. The metal is warm beneath his fingertips.

“The most important part,” he murmurs with a happy sigh.

 Foggy shakes his head but finishes the thought anyway in a gratifyingly besotted voice.

“Your name next to mine.”

They each give their sign a final, fond pat and walk into the city the way they were always meant to – together.


End file.
